#alan duff

I’m not entirely sure what this is supposed to be, but I think it’s supposed to be something along the lines of “ah, them poor fat ladies who just want to be loved! But no one loves them because they’re TOO FAT! And then they go home and cry into pizza boxes lamenting their sad lonely lives. And they laugh as a comfort thingy, not because they’re having a good time or anything. They’re fat, they can’t have a good time.’ 

(And can I just say how tired I am of this portrayal of heavy people? It isn’t accurate at all. I’m tired of the Poor Single Fat Lady Who No One Loves thing. There are single fat ladies who are too busy saving the world to meet someone. There are single fat ladies who aren’t really interested in relationships right now. And what if there’s a single fat lady who is single because she’s too busy having really hot sex with a different person every night, and her whole house is like her sex palace, with one of those hangy sex furniturey things in every room, and strapons hanging from chandeliers and she sleeps with a whole bunch of people and they all want to marry her but she isn’t looking for that sort of thing until one day she meets another fat lady and they fall in love and live happily ever after?’) 

That gaunt-faced, middle-aged guy keeps crossing your vision, giving you, everyone, the same funny look. Searching for his lost self in every face? Companionship? A likely receptive person he can pour his heart out to? Was he severely traumatised as a kid? Does he have a mental problem, a social disorder?

what? Maybe he just has resting crazy face or something? Or maybe you’re overanalysing strangers?

He sure as hell isn't pissed off that his coffee isn't perfect. He doesn't own his own home to be worried about his capital gain. He just wants someone to talk to and even then, in the back of his roiling mind, knows he can't ever find the words to express his pain.

It is now that I say that I’m autistic and one of my prominent symptoms is really sensitive tastebuds so I don’t do coffee. But. This whole idea that people facing significant difficulties don’t also worry about trivial things is very inaccurate. You can be dealing with all manner of crap and still be irritated by minor things

That big Maori dude with a gang facial tattoo sitting in Queen St with his begging cup? Back in the day he was "Da Man" whose every foul deed was approved by his gang brothers. He woke each day in a fog from booze and drugs but knew one thing: he belonged.

The bodily-intake excesses got out of control. In prison there was plenty of stuff available to stay "out of it". Being out of facing the pain, let alone the damage, of a horrific childhood. On the outside? Well, drugs is the name of the gang game and members get to wallow in the stuff.

But it keeps draining out every last bit of his soul, until one day he wakes up and the core of him is gone. And just bare naked truth stands there. That's the beggar you can't bear to give the price of a cup of your precious coffee. He has - had - a story. But no-one wants to hear it.

What.

How would you like to be that girl afflicted with cerebral palsy? Yet where does she get that beatific smile from? Why does she appear so saintly, happy with her lot? Did you catch her on a day when her limited movement was slightly freer? What are her sleeping dreams about? Her waking ones? Is her heart filled with envy of the able-bodied? You can bet she isn't thinking about coffee quality and how much her house has gone up this week.

Oh dear, I think this is my favourite part. Shock! Plot twist? Like, a girl with CEREBRAL PALSY???? SMILING???? How can she be so happy? What a holy being she must be! Shouldn’t she be busy feeling depressed about having cerebral palsy every moment of her life? It’s just ridiculous. Why can’t you just see her as a happy person having a good day? But no, she must be this holy angel put on earth to show abled people how grateful you should be that you don’t have cerebral palsy. 

What if genetically, you lack social awareness? What if it was beaten out of you? How do you connect to the rest of the world? Who listens, who understands, if you don't have the capacity to express yourself without breaking some social rule? Where do you fit? On the outside, pal. Without a key.

The elderly spinster living in a tiny council unit who never gets visitors, has no one to celebrate birthdays or Christmas with. No family members who pop in from time to time and together add up to a reasonably full emotional life. The handful of friends is down to one, or none at all, they've all died or moved away. And they weren't such close friends anyway, or they'd write.

Neither of these situations are inevitable-we as a society can function to support people! We don’t need to be hand-wringing and ‘oh-so-sad’ing, we need to be doing our bit to make the world a more inclusive place.

How lonely is life to the profoundly deaf, in that world of total silence? While we, the lucky normal of hearing, get to socialise, listen to the orchestras of living, throbbing humanity, insects, animals, wind, rain, thunder; the irony of appreciating what we call silence.

“The lucky normal of hearing”. For pete’s sake. Has this guy heard of Deaf communities? Or the Internet? Or sign language? Or hearing aids? 

There are the severely disabled, disfigured, mentally unwell, every kind of social misfit. Marching in the same single column are the traumatised, the haunted, the inconsolably sad, the congenitally melancholic, the troubled and anguished, the ones made angry growing up in an angry household.

This makes me think of this line of sad people marching in a line of sadness like the saddest conga line ever. 

Drink in each lucky moment, folks. Stop sweating the small things or getting vexed over piffling matters. You don't know how lucky you are.